


Seventy Two Hours in Hell

by KazOfScotland



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: M/M, Pre-Avengers (2012), Sunburn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:40:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25674469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KazOfScotland/pseuds/KazOfScotland
Summary: It's been seventy two hours and all Clint has got was a sunburn and Coulson asking him about his birthday
Relationships: Clint Barton/Phil Coulson
Comments: 2
Kudos: 39





	Seventy Two Hours in Hell

Seventy two hours unable to move under the beating sun was a unique type of torture if you asked Clint Barton. He had had plenty of water so he wasn’t too concerned about dehydration although he knew that Coulson, his boss, his handler, and probably one of the only people on the planet that he trusted, would insist that he went to medical, just in case. In all honesty, dehydration was one of the last things on his mind, no, he was far more concerned by the insistent itch that he couldn’t move to scratch. 

He had an idea of what the cause was; sunburn. The direct consequence of this unique type of torture. He wanted to move, just a couple of feet to get out of the direct beating sunlight, but he also knew he couldn’t, he had been waiting for three days, seventy two hours, four thousand, three hundred and twenty minutes, just to take this one shot. It was one shot and a human trafficker, one who specifically trafficked children, would no longer grace the earth, and that meant that Clint couldn’t risk not taking the shot. 

But he was itching. Normally he would be itching to take the shot. It wasn’t that he enjoyed death, it wasn’t that he enjoyed being the cause of someone’s death, but rather, he was a marksman, he was a sniper, he was paid to point, aim, shoot, and not miss. He was never meant to miss. 

In fact, he never missed. That was what he prided himself on, not the number of kills he had, but how he never missed. Any target. Any conditions. It was guaranteed, he would hit it. 

But he wanted to itch. He badly wanted to itch the burning skin on his arms, the scolding skin on the back of his neck. If he itched, maybe it would stop, but he knew it wouldn’t and he knew he couldn’t risk not being ready. He would not miss. He could not miss. 

“Any plans for your birthday, Hawkeye?” The voice of his handler, Phil Coulson, caused the marksman to startle, it wasn’t that he wasn’t paying attention, it was just that he had forgotten that the man was at the other end of his com link. For most people it would be strange and surprising for the man in the suit, Director Fury’s right hand man, to start a conversation about a birthday in the middle of a mission, but Clint knew that Coulson was doing what he did best. He was handling his asset. 

Clint couldn’t explain it, but Coulson had always had this ability, an ability that let him know when his asset was getting distracted. Like he was with the goddamn desire to itch. The burning itch that was growing with every passing second. But the voice of Coulson was a pretty good distraction. 

“You know me boss, coffee, pancakes and torturing the junior agents,” Clint managed to stop himself from laughing. He had plans for his birthday, but none of them involved being anywhere near SHIELD. Birthdays were for family, and that was his plan, to spend the day with his daughter if he got back to New York on time. “Although, I might be spending it waiting for this jackass to turn up!” That part he didn’t keep the annoyance out of his voice for. The intelligence had been wrong, the target was meant to have turned up between twenty four and forty eight hours earlier, and still had yet to make an appearance. 

“Twelve hours and then Fury said to call it, Hawkeye, do you think you can hold out that long?” There was concern in Coulson’s voice that was only discernible because Clint knew him a lot better than the rest of the SHIELD agents. He also knew that if he told Coulson that he couldn’t last that much longer. And honestly, he was close to saying that he was done, that he was finished. 

The situation had left a lot to be desired from the start. He had literally walked off of one plane straight onto another, and had been dropped from one sunshine hellhole into another. He wanted nothing more than to have this sunburn dealt with, he could already tell that he was going to spend his birthday trying not to peel off his sunburn all whilst trying not to give in to the urge to itch. 

He had patience that would last for days when he had to wait to make a shot, however, injuries and sunburn were the two things he had no patience for. He hated the fact that he had to wait for the pain or the annoying itch to go away, and the problem was that it wasn’t something that could be easily prevented. He knew that people would say sunburn was preventable, and normally it was, unless you were laid on top of a roof unable to move to go to the bathroom let alone apply sun cream. He was lucky to be able to move enough to put the bottles of water that Coulson had buried into his bag to his lips. 

“Twelve hours I can do, Boss, but this sun is a bitch,” He knew that if he didn’t respond then Coulson would worry and do everything possible to get the mission called early, to get Clint out of the beating sun that was likely to be making him delirious and giving him the horrific sunburn. It was what Coulson was like, he was a great S.H.I.E.L.D Agent who always wanted to complete the mission, but he was always the type to put his Agent’s first. 

“Change channel, Specialist.” The channel they had been talking on had been one that all of the agents on the mission could listen in on, but there were specific channels assigned to each Agent on the mission so as to ensure that private information was kept as such. It meant that vital information only went to those who were supposed to receive it. 

Clint tapped his ear piece enough times to change to the appropriate channel. And then he sat quietly, his focus on the building where his target was meant to exit which would allow him to take the kill shot, all while he waited for Coulson to speak. 

“How bad is the sunburn, Clint?” And there again was Coulson’s concerned voice. It brought a warmness and sense of joy that he had never previously felt before joining S.H.I.E.L.D and building a bond with the man. 

“Hurt’s like a bitch, but I’ve had worse.” He had been going to say more, but instead he focused intently on the door of the building he was watching finally opening. He narrowed his eyes and slowed his breathing until the man stepped straight into his line of sight and then, with a simple breath he pulled the trigger. 

“Pack it up, Clint, mission is over. You’ll be home in time to spend your birthday with your daughter, and I promise to help with the sunburn.”

  
  



End file.
